


The Way To A Man's Heart

by ozonecologne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Baker!Dean, Cop!Castiel, Fluff, M/M, cop!Gabriel, lawyer!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4046446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozonecologne/pseuds/ozonecologne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester’s just moved to escape a rough childhood. He opens a diner a few blocks from the local precinct, and gets a little too competitive with an anonymous officer affectionately referred to as “Cassie.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way To A Man's Heart

Officer Hanscum was an early riser. She came in every morning at 7:04, allowing herself a good fifteen minutes or so before trekking down to the precinct just a few blocks away. “Good mornin’ there, Dean,” she chirped as she walked in, tipping her hat.

Dean grinned over the counter and wiped his hands on the rag he was holding. “Mornin’ Donna! Rough night?” he asked, already setting out a paper napkin at her favorite spot at the counter.

She took a seat on the tall stool left waiting for her, and set her keys and hat down beside the napkin. “Oh, you betcha. Pull up a chair – I’ll tell you about it.”

So same as always, Dean dragged a stool around to his side of the counter, fetched the fresh pot of coffee (dusted with cinnamon), and set out two fresh powdered donuts. “Don’t leave anything out,” he demanded sternly, tucking in and smearing white sugar dust all over his lip.

 

Donna was only one of many regulars that came into Mary’s daily. Dean had his rushes, sure, but more often than not it was a slow trickle of people working in the area. Some were going through a bit of a rough patch and just needed a little space to themselves, like the angsty tired-of-being-treated-like-she’s-stupid Krissy Chambers, high school student. Or the world-weary very-high-functioning-alcoholic-and-full-time-orphan Chuck Shurley, struggling science fiction writer (Dean’s read some of his stuff; it’s actually not half bad if you can get over the occasional cliché). Some are business execs that drop in for lunch on the go, like Zachariah Adler in his cheesy suits and his leather-tight fake smile. But because he’s only a few blocks from the precinct, most of Dean’s customers are cops.

Dean’s open most hours of the day – got nowhere else to be – and sometimes his mind keeps him up so late that it’s all he can do to keep sane by baking bread and brewing coffee. Since moving to the city his nightmares have actually gotten a bit more manageable, the noise and bustle of urban life a constant distraction from the dangerous quiet that settles in his head. Living near the police station was good for his peace of mind. It was the least he could do to say ‘thank you’ with a hot pot of coffee every now and then.

His most frequent visitor was Gabriel Novak, one of the many illustrious Novak children. Gabriel had told him once over a cherry Danish that his father had been a cop too, and from a very young age all the little Novak boys – and the girls, too – were raised to be perfect cadets. Dean could relate.

Every so often another Novak would walk through the door under Gabriel’s arm: Michael, Alfie, Raphael, the more the merrier. Each one liked something different, and Dean was a professional tastemaker. He just _knew_ , instinctively, what everyone needed. Flavor and comfort: it was French vanilla for Mikey, custard and caramel for Alfie, raspberry for Raph, dark chocolate for Gabe, and hot bitter coffee for the lot of them. Every time Dean read about a triple homicide in the paper, he made sure to get in early and get to work on slicing the ham and prosciutto extra thin and baking his specialty rosemary sourdough so the Novaks would have hearty sandwiches to make them feel full after a day when all you’d want to do is lose your lunch. They took the booth by the door and ate with bowed heads, and Dean knew better than to try and talk to them on days like that.

On the good days, the days of jobs gone right, Gabriel blabbed sometimes about his littlest brother only referred to as “Cassie,” who was according to him not much older than Dean. Cas – as Dean liked to call him in his head, since no grown man wants to be called _Cassie_ – was the only Novak he hadn’t met yet, the only one who’s never stopped in to grab a donut or a cup of coffee or a sandwich. Gabe says he works through lunch, nibbling on pathetic pieces of soppy toast or a granola bar or something. Gabe makes sure to take something back for him anyway, but the dude’s order is different every day.

It’s become a little challenge of Dean’s actually: trying to guess what Cas would like more than what he sent over the day before. Melts and rolls and subs and burgers – all eaten but never praised, never touched a second time. Not good enough for a repeat performance. Gabriel has never repeated an order on behalf of his brother, and Dean was determined to find the one thing Cas would swoon over. He’d make a convert out of him yet.

That’s how Dean ends up standing in his sweltering kitchen in the middle of July, glaring down at the flour-dusted countertop like it’s personally offended him, for the sake of a man he’s never even met.

“Stare at that thing much longer, your face will freeze like that,” Sam said from the door, crossing his arms and smiling like the shit little brother that he is.

Dean squinted harder at the pile of flour and chewed the inside of his cheek. “Try this,” Dean commanded, holding a plate out in open air to Sam.

His brother took the piece of focaccia off the plate offered to him and chewed slowly, eyebrows going in and up after a moment. “Whoa, I like that,” he mumbled around the mouthful. “How’d you get it so buttery?” he asked.

Dean gestured angrily at the bread. “It’s good, right? Like, great, even, right?” he asked.

Sam nodded emphatically, dusting off his fingers on a dishtowel so not to ruin his suit. “Yeah, it’s awesome. You’ve always been really good with the breads,” he said. He frowned. “Why?”

Dean huffed. “ _Cas_ apparently didn’t think so. Gabe asked for some sort of… _flatbread_ yesterday,” he said, sounding almost disgusted.

Sam smirked. “You’re really taking this personally, aren’t you?” he asked, fingers inching towards the unguarded tray of rolls to Dean’s left.

He smacked his brother’s hand away and offered him another slice of focaccia set aside on another tray. “I just don’t get it, Sammy. Everyone’s got something they like best.” Dean’s face paled. “Maybe he’s vegan.”

Sam started to laugh. “I’m serious, Sam! What if he can’t eat bread or something? Maybe he’s got high cholesterol and can’t have butter. Shit, I use a FUCK TON of butter. Fuck. I’m killing him. That’s gotta be it,” he rambled, dusting the flour off the table and pouring some new spread out.

Sam snorted and shook his head. “Dean, I’m sure it’s fine. Gabe would tell you if your sandwiches send his brother into cardiac arrest.”

Dean grunted noncommittally as he waved his rolling pin like a club. “I wouldn’t put it past him not to even say anything. What if I’ve been poisoning the guy for weeks?”

Sam sighed. “Ok. You know what, it would probably be good for you to use less butter anyway. Your diet is terrible.”

Dean glared. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my diet.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t kill you to eat a vegetable every now and again,” he grumbled to himself.

Dean waved him off and tossed, “You’re off now, right?” over his shoulder as he pulled a tray of rolls out of the oven.

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Great! Help me with this.”

Sam jumped back like he’d been shocked. “No way, man, you do NOT want me in here. Good luck with the, uh, Cas thing.”

Dean shouted after his retreating brother, but to no avail. Sam was probably right; Dean didn’t want him in the kitchen anyway.

Dean’s new vegan bread was actually not that bad, considering. He looked up like seven recipes online, and the dough came out kind of tacky so he wasn’t too sure about it at first. Topped with bananas and fresh clover honey, it was actually pretty good. A perfect heart-healthy option for stubborn vegan cops.

He had a hunch about peanut butter, but the bananas he wasn’t too sure about. He took some of Sam’s all-natural fig spread and slathered it on another piece, pausing a moment before squirting some honey into the mix as well. His own special take on the classic PB&J. He wrapped it up in deli paper and labeled it “Cas” before placing it to the side, knowing it would only be about twenty minutes before Gabriel showed up anyway.

True to form, Gabriel was late. Dean made Cas a fresh sandwich, worried the honey would seep into the bread too much, and wrapped it up after tossing the old one into the fridge for later.

Gabriel entered with a ruckus, as usual. “Buenos dias, Dean-o!” he shouted, dragging a stool over with a loud screech, and grinning as he rested his chin on his folded hands. “What do you have for me today?” he asked.

Dean rolled his eyes and produced a plate of dark-chocolate cherry drops big as Dean’s fist, sprinkled with powdered sugar, along with a fork and an empty mug. “Here. Mid-morning sugar rush,” he said, going for the coffee.

“Oooh,” Gabriel murmured, picking up the fork reverently. He cut into one and gooey cherry filling spilled out onto the plate like molten lava, and Gabriel practically melted onto the counter when he took the first bite. “You, my friend, are a magician in an apron.”

Dean smiled a little as he poured Gabriel’s coffee. “Well aren’t you sweet,” he cooed, reaching behind him and sliding over the wrapped sandwich. “That’s for Cas, when you’re ready to get out of my hair,” he said casually, snagging the empty baguette basket from beside the display case.

Gabriel grinned to himself. “Oh, is it?” he asked, peering at the little bundle with his brother’s nickname scrawled across the top.

Dean ignored him as he headed to the back to restock the baguettes. “Hey, Gabe?” he called.

“Yes, dear?” he heard shouted back to him.

Dean dropped the bread in haphazardly, not really concerned for appearance. “Is Cas a vegan?” he asked.

Gabriel laughed loudly, so that Dean’s ears were tinged red when he came out of the kitchen balancing the reloaded basket. “No way. That kid loves cheeseburgers more than he loves his big brother. Why?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “No reason,” he replied, filing that bit about cheeseburgers away for later.

Gabriel gulped down the rest of his glorious confection and saluted to Dean as he dropped his tip on the counter. “Keep the change, Dean-o. You earned that one,” he said, swiping up Cas’s sandwich as he sauntered away. “I’ll tell Cas you said hi!”

“Thanks, Gabe. Stay safe,” he called over his shoulder, setting the change in the register. He crossed his fingers under the counter like a little kid, sending good vibes to the sandwich tucked against Gabriel’s palm. _This could be it_ , he thought with a little vindictive, victorious spike of satisfaction. _Please don’t let Cas have a peanut allergy!_

 “Bah!” Gabriel called, shutting the door behind him.

 

The next day Gabriel didn’t show up at his usual time, but that’s not that strange in itself. Police officers have unpredictable schedules. Still, Dean had no way of knowing if his PB&J sent Cas to the hospital or to taste bud heaven and he was a little grumpy about it. He was buffing out his frustrations on the display cases under the front counter, smeared with fingerprints from kids looking in, and his mind was already spinning thinking of the next thing he’d feed to the mysterious Cas Novak (the dick).

It was about two in the morning when Dean was gearing himself up to finally close – the place was deader than dead – but the front door opened with a little clang and Dean glanced through the display window he was cleaning from his place on the floor. He nearly knocked over the tray of blondies at his elbow.

The guy in the doorway was gorgeous. Like, porn star gorgeous. Dark, messy hair like he’d been pulling on it, eyes blue and hard like ice, full pink lips turned down in a tiny pout, and the whole lean package wrapped up in a navy police uniform.

Oh boy, Dean was in trouble.

“Um?” the man murmured to himself, fidgeting in the entryway. “Hello?” he called quietly. And God, that _voice_.

Dean shot up from behind the case, nearly smashing his head in the process. “Uh, hi,” he said.

The man flicked his eyes over to Dean immediately. He just stared at him for a while before shaking his head slightly and breaking the spell. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. Are you open?” he asked.

Dean nodded and twisted the rag in his hands anxiously. “Yeah, sure. Pull up a chair,” he said, nodding to the counter. “I have to take care of some stuff in the back,” he said. “What can I get you?” he asked.

The man sat gingerly on one of the stools, smoothing his hands along the counter. “Um… whatever you have out is fine,” he said.

Dean fled to the kitchen, his safe place, where he allowed himself a big breath out. He’d never seen this guy in his place before, but he was hoping maybe he could convince him to stay now that he was here. He must be a desk clerk or from some visiting division. He grabbed an asiago bagel that was a part of an experiment earlier and twisted it in his hand, thinking.

He nuked one in the microwave for a little bit before taking out some spinach and low fat basil spread and slathering them on there. Guy looked like he had a long day; he could use a crunch to wake him up and the warm cheesy bagel would be perfect for a late night snack, gooey and filling.

He put it on an actual plate, fussed over it for a moment, and then carried it out and placed it before the guy at the counter, preoccupied with looking around the little diner. “Anything to drink?” he asked him.

The man eyed his bagel hungrily. “Do you have any tea?” he asked.

Dean nodded and checked the little drawer under the register. “Green, mint, chai, chamomile, lemon, orange ginger, and…” Dean furrowed his brow. “‘Constant Comment?’ What the hell is that?” he muttered to himself.

The man at the counter laughed, a low rumbling sound. “The green is fine. I could use the caffeine.”

Dean smiled a bit and took out a pack, tearing it open as he walked over to the coffee pot, now just steaming hot water. “Sure thing. One minute.”

Dean’s back was to him, but he definitely heard the moment he bit into the bagel. “Oh my god,” he moaned a little. “This is really good,” he muttered, biting into it again.

Dean grinned to himself. Had him pegged for savory; good call, Winchester. “Fresh made this afternoon,” he said, picking his tea quickly.

“You MADE this?” he asked, voice breathy like he’d seen God.

Dean nodded and set the mug beside his crumb-dusted plate. “Yep. Everything here is homemade.”

The man blinked at him. “You’re kidding. Everything?”

Dean chuckled and tried to fend off the blush threatening to stain his cheeks. “Um, yeah. Well, not, like, the ham or anything, but the bread’s mine, and, um, most of the spreads. Some vegetables.” Dean cut himself off before he could say anything else stupid. “Yeah,” he finished eloquently.

The man chewed slowly and shook his head in disbelief. “You truly have a gift,” he said, mouth full. It was kind of adorable.

Dean blinked and brushed off the compliment, untying his apron. He knew he’d be putting it back on later, residual embarrassment from tonight’s encounter permeating a deep need to punch out a few loaves of rye, but it felt nice to relax for a moment. His stupid heart was beating too fast and, huh, maybe Sam was right; he should let up on the trans fats. “Long shift, huh?” he asked.

The man snapped his head up from his plate. “Oh. Um, no more than usual, I suppose,” he said, like he hadn’t been expecting Dean to ask.

He shrugged. “We get a lot of cops through here. You’ve definitely got the look about you,” Dean said, smiling a little.

The man smiled a little at him in return. “Yes, this place is rather popular, though I’ve never been in before,” he said, idly tapping a few fingers against the golden crust of his bagel.

“I’d remember you if you came in,” Dean said before he could stop himself. “I’ve, um, made it a point to memorize people’s orders, I mean,” he covered. Smooth.

The man burst out into a grin. “I’m sure you have,” he said, sipping his tea. On an inhale, he closed his eyes for a minute. “I’m sorry to be keeping you here,” he said with his eyes still closed. He opened them up, and Dean was still shocked by the lightness of them. “I know it’s late. You’ll want to get home soon.”

Dean managed just enough coordination to shrug. “I’m up late more often than not.”

“Can’t sleep?”

Dean shook his head.

The man smiled apologetically and polished off the last of his bagel. “I don’t get much sleep myself these days,” he murmured.

“Ever try whale songs?” Dean joked.

The man tilted his head and squinted a little. “Does that work for you?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I was just – never mind.” The man only shrugged in response and sipped his tea as Dean gently took his plate away, afraid to make even a sound and spoil this perfect quiet between the two of them.

When Dean came back from putting the plate in the sink, the man had finished his tea as well, and was collecting himself to leave. He smiled at Dean kindly, like he had given him a great gift. “Thank you, that was lovely. How much do I owe you?” he asked, reaching for his back pocket.

Dean did flush at that and shook his head. “Nah, man, on me,” he said, shooing him away. “Go try to get some sleep,” he mumbled, leaning against the counter.

“You’re sure?” the man asked, wide eyed. “I really don’t mind –”

“Seriously. Go home.”

The man pursed his lips, and then they twitched into a small smile. “Thank you. Really.”

Dean waved his hand and retreated to the back again. “Yeah, sure, it was nothing. Uh, flip the sign on your way out?” he called.

“Sure,” he heard quietly. Dean slammed on the faucet and set to work cleaning the left over dishes, and the water was so loud in his ears that he missed the tiny, “Goodnight, Dean,” uttered from the doorway.

He realized too late that he hadn’t gotten the man’s name.

 

Gabriel was back again the next day, gang of siblings and coworkers in tow. There were a lot of them today, Donna among them, grinning and waving at Dean behind the counter. Dean waved back with a genuine grin and Gabriel whistled. “Hey! Dean! Hurry up bro, we’re starving over here!”

Dean rolled his eyes and wiped his hands. “Keep your pants on, Gabe,” he hollered back, setting out a fresh glass of sweet tea for Old Missouri Moseley, holed up in a corner. “Here you go, ma’am,” he said softly. She smiled and said thank you and then Dean turned to fetch the cops’ orders, which he had all prepared in advance anyway. “Gabe! No pulp all right?” he shouted through the little window.

“If I wanted pulp, I’d ask for an orange. Come _on_!” he heard. With a begrudging smile he poured Gabriel a glass of orange juice along with his coffee.

The cops had spread out over two and a half booths, chatting with one another and laughing and gesturing. Like family.

He set down sandwiches for everyone, amending a few orders in his head – Alfie wanted extra pickles, Donna requested TWO slices of cake, Winchester, _what kind of girl do you take me for_ , and even Naomi showed up requesting a mayo-free turkey club. Dean was just about to run off to grab the coffee when something stopped him.

Specifically a dark haired, blue-eyed something, smiling shyly at him.

Gabriel grinned and threw his arm around the man with the blue eyes and grinned. “Dean-o, meet my little brother Cassie!” he crowed. “Finally convinced him to leave his desk.”

Cas frowned. “Gabriel, it’s Castiel, _please_ ,” he grumbled, shoving his brother’s arm off of him.

Oh, of course. Castiel Novak. The guy without a regular order. The guy who didn’t like any of his food, so much so that he had never even set foot in his establishment before last night even though he WASN’T a snobby new age vegan. Right. Sure.

What the hell.

Dean felt a little pang of betrayal at the introduction. “Uh, yeah, we’ve met,” he said tightly, setting Gabriel’s plate down. He, of course, had Castiel’s lunch-of-the-day prepared in the back, but it was wrapped in deli paper. “I’ll, um, be right back with yours,” he said, gesturing vaguely to Castiel. His brain was angry but his stomach was doing stupid little flips, and Dean glared down at it angrily. Traitor.

He tore open the paper wrapping with much more force than necessary and glared at the latest Cas-creation: double cheeseburger, Dean’s specialty. He really hadn’t forgotten Gabriel’s comment about Castiel’s unhealthy love of burgers – a man after his own heart, go figure – and Dean made the meanest burger for miles. Everyone knew it. There was something imposing about the sandwich now, and Dean didn’t want to go back out there, forced to watch Cas’s face scrunch up in distaste when he tried yet another thing of Dean’s that he didn’t like. What if it was too greasy or something?

He just didn’t understand if Castiel had lied to him last night about the bagel. Or maybe that was the one thing he really enjoyed?

Without dwelling too much on it Dean pulled together the burger and a green tea and carried them over to Castiel, along with Alfie’s pickles and Donna’s extra slice of cake. “Thank you, Dean,” Cas said from his seat, looking excitedly at his plate. He eyed the mug and his smile softened.

He'd remembered.

“Sure thing, Cas,” Dean said quietly, noticing a girl at the counter and fleeing to deal with her as quickly as possible, thankful for the distraction.

“Whoa, hey, that looks good,” Gabriel said, practically leering at Cas’s plate.

“Can I have two lemon bars?” the girl up front asked quietly, already shoving a five at him. Dean smiled wryly at her and threw two in a paper bag, glancing at Cas as he handed it over the counter. He was squinting at Gabriel, but his mouth was drawn up in an affectionate smirk. He had one arm curled protectively around his plate. Dean smiled a little and gave the girl her change. “Have a good day, sweetheart,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she replied shyly, a blush growing on her suntanned cheeks.

He puttered around in the back for a while, frosting a pound cake for Ellen and fishing burnt muffins out of their tins with a surly look on his face. Totally not avoiding Castiel. “Dean!” someone called from the front.

Dean jumped and wiped his hands free of crumbs. “Yeah! Be right out!”

He dashed back to the counter, already spewing apologies, and was suddenly face to face with Gabriel, his blue-eyed brother at his side again. “I don’t know how you do it, my friend, but you may actually be the man of Cassie’s dreams,” he said, shoving money into Dean’s limp hand.

Cas huffed. “Castiel,” he corrected his brother. “And thank you, Dean. I enjoyed that very much,” he said, and it sounded like he really meant it.

Dean blinked. “You… did?”

Castiel nodded with bright eyes. “Of course. Like I enjoy everything here,” he said.

Dean blinked again and furrowed his brow. “What?” he blurted eloquently.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Why do you think I keep ordering from you? Cas literally cannot get enough of this place. Whatever it is you do, keep doing it.”

Dean gaped. “But… you don’t have a thing!”

Castiel frowned. “A thing?”

Dean waved his hands, unable to articulate, because this was too ridiculous. “You know! Raph likes Reubens, Naomi likes blueberry pie, Mike always gets French Vanilla creamer in his coffee, you know! A THING,” Dean said. He gestured at Castiel. “I always have to make you something different,” he ended lamely.

Castiel laughed sheepishly. “So you thought I didn’t like your _cooking_?” he asked, struggling to understand.

Dean flushed bright pink. “Well. Yeah!”

Castiel shook his head, big grin and a faint flush on his face. “I’ve been stuck on desk duty for the past two months. I ask Gabriel to get me something different each time because I want to try _everything.”_ His face softened, and a hint of a blush rose up on his cheeks, which Dean thought was also very adorable. “I like everything you make, Dean,” he confessed.

Dean just stared at him, and then yanked him in by his crisp, blue uniform.

The table behind them whistled as Dean kissed the ever-loving shit out of Castiel… who reached around and pulled Dean’s hips flush against his own.

Gabriel snorted and smacked Cas on the back. “Come on, Cas, back to work. You can make out with your boyfriend later,” he said, gripping his brother’s sleeve and dragging him away from Dean’s wet, hot mouth.

Dean could only stare as Castiel was dragged out of his store by his uniform cuff. “Same time tomorrow?” he called back to him.

Dean smirked back. “It’s a date.”

Castiel’s smile bloomed beautifully on his face. “Great. Surprise me.”

Oh, Dean had just the thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also on [tumblr!](http://ozonecologne.tumblr.com)


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